Canopy Glow
by Aveline Mariamne
Summary: "Alice felt as if she was in a sacred place—like the forest was an entity that lived and breathed and saw everything through the golden half-light."  A retelling of the movie from the perspective of the girl who sees everything, and the man who sees her.
1. Prologue: The Manor

_Like all of you here, _Last of the Mohicans_ affected me in a way that few movies ever have. I've been wanting to do justice to Alice and Uncas' story for a long time, and finally I got my ideas together enough to do it for this year's NaNoWriMo. I don't know if I'll get to 50,000 words, but it will certainly be an adventure in trying!_

_The band Anathallo's album _Canopy Glow_ is a continual source of inspiration for me as I write this fic (hence the title!) and has sort of become my mental score for Alice and Uncas' developing love. As a result, lyrics from its songs will appear often.  
_

_Any of the dialogue taken from the film was taken with much gratitude, I certainly don't own anything of Michael Mann's, or any of Anathallo's beautiful songs. _

_Enjoy!_

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She wasn't spying, she told herself.

It was one of those rare, perfect summer days that benevolently offered up a cool, whispery breeze as a reprieve from the oppressive heat-an omnipresent feature of summer in the Colonies, as Alice Munro had come to find out. Large, fluffy clouds floated languidly across the clear blue sky, and birds perched on the fruited boughs of the courtyard trees sang a lilting call-and-response to their fellows. It was like a scene from a novel, Alice noted, as she gazed intently out of the large parlor window, studying the two figures seated at the small table set up by the servants not a half an hour before.

She and Cora had arrived at the Rensslaerswyck Manor about a week earlier; the sprawling, lavishly decorated estate left over from the days of the Dutch occupation. They were to stay there, their father's letter instructed, until he organized a battalion to escort them to Fort William Henry, the outpost where he was stationed. The current _patroon_ was a young Dutchman by the name of Jan Baptist van Rensslaer; a surly, taciturn acquaintance of Colonel Munro's who spoke in heavily accented English and avoided interacting with either Cora or Alice at all costs. His new wife, who Alice thought was about her age, had only recently emigrated from Holland and spoke no English at all. Alice was fighting a bothersome summer cold-probably a result of the close quarters on the ship to Boston-and was obediently heeding her sister's instructions not to overexert herself. Sewing could only occupy her for so long, and Alice was too timid to request to play the handsome clavichord a few feet away from where she sat, even if she knew whom to ask. So it was only natural that she would look casually out of the window, and a pure coincidence to find her elder sister and their childhood friend Major Duncan Heyward engaged in intimate conversation.

Even from her relatively far vantage point, Alice could tell that Cora was uncomfortable: she sat ramrod straight in her chair, her chin thrust up. She was talking at length; Duncan's shoulders were hunched and his head ever so slightly bowed, bobbing up and down as he responded to her. Without having to see their expressions—Cora's stiff, though polite gaze and Duncan's barely-hidden crestfallen stare—Alice knew that Cora had rejected Duncan's proposal.

This didn't come as a surprise to Alice, or anyone, for that matter—Duncan's courtship of her older sister was the talk of London society, with him being an especially eligible bachelor who was not only from a quite old family of lesser but nonetheless influential nobility, but had also proven his military prowess on the battlefields of Europe. His ardent pursuit of Cora's hand was a minor breach of the unspoken code of conduct that dictated almost every detail of their lives: Alice and Cora's father, though wealthy and well-connected, was most definitely a product of the British military meritocracy, with his humble Scottish origins a sort of open secret amongst the elite.

"If she only knew how lucky she was!" Cousin Eugenie had stage-whispered, leaning towards Alice conspiratorially. She and her husband had come to see the sisters off on their voyage to Boston, and had seized upon Alice the moment Cora was out of earshot. "What any decent young lady in London wouldn't do to have Duncan Heyward's eyes only for her!"

Alice said nothing, fiddling nervously with the ruffled sleeves of her gown.

"She won't have the luxury to be choosy much longer." Eugenie continued snidely, quite unfazed by what she considered to be her youngest cousin's usual reticence. "Twenty and not yet married! I would be ashamed."

Alice couldn't help but feel a pang of envy as she watched Cora and Duncan's silent dance of propriety versus emotion, all gestures and grimaces. Duncan was an upstanding man—handsome, intelligent, noble. She knew how he adored Cora; how he would treat her with the utmost respect and courtesy, shower her with gifts, carry her miniature in his waistcoat pocket when he lead his regiment into battle...

A harried-looking servant who had dropped a couple of clothespins while passing through the parlor shook Alice out of her reverie. Curtseying and muttering a shaky apology, she gathered the clothespins into her apron, quickly removing herself from Alice's sight. It was only when she glanced out the window again and saw the girl pinning up more clean linens to dry in the bright August sunshine that Alice decided that she had had quite enough of the stuffy sitting room. After making a quick stop in her and Cora's shared room to fetch her favorite straw sunhat and fasten it securely over her cap, Alice stepped through the large glass-paneled door in the dining room into the early afternoon sunshine. She paused in the threshold of the open door and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath of fresh air and luxuriating in the breeze on her face and neck before making her way towards her sister and the very bemused Major.

"Duncan!" Alice exclaimed with more confidence than she felt. Duncan's eyes widened in surprise, and he stood to greet her.

"My God, you've grown up!" Alice's expression darkened a bit as Duncan reached for her two hands with an expression of brotherly fondness. Cora raised an eyebrow—though she was quite relieved at her sister's convenient appearance despite her frequent admonitions for Alice to rest, her younger sister's deviation from her usual reserved nature did not go unnoticed.

"We leave in the morning?" Alice asked brightly, regaining her composure.

"Yes miss." Duncan replied, letting go of one of Alice's hands and leading her towards the small table.

"I shan't sleep tonight. What an adventure! Have you seen the red men?"

"A few." Duncan answered after a pause, with an indulgent grin.

"I simply cannot wait to return to Portman Square, having been to the wilderness. It's so exciting, Duncan!"

It was the only part of the two-day long horseback trip that Alice had been looking forward to. Alice had been transfixed by the wild beauty of the forests of Massachusetts and western New York as they traversed them during the long coach ride from Boston to Albany—the tall, imposing trees; the seemingly impenetrable thickets of underbrush; but most strikingly, the ethereal glow of the setting sun through the canopy of leaves. She had never seen anything like it. Alice wanted to know everything about the race of men that lived amid such untamed splendor. There was so much she wanted to understand.

"It can be dangerous." Duncan reminded her with a smile still in his eyes.

"Nonsense." Alice replied airily, trying to imitate her sister's famous dismissive tone. "Papa wouldn't have sent for us if it were dangerous."

* * *

"What were you and Duncan talking about in the garden?"

Alice and Cora were in the middle of the nightly routine they had practiced since they were little girls—both in their nightdresses, Alice was seated in front of Cora at the decorative inlaid wood vanity in their room at the Rensslaerswyck Manor, while Cora stood behind her, brushing her younger sister's long white-blonde hair with slow, even strokes. Alice was more attached to this ritual that she cared to admit: she loved the methodical feel of the brush through her hair, the comforting lightness of her sister's fingertips on her head. When they were younger, this was the time that they would share secrets, giggling about their governess' funny accent or Cora's near-perfect imitation of Cousin Eugenie's high-pitched, sycophantic laugh. Lately, however, Cora had seemed distant, lost in thoughts that she didn't care to share with her sister. There was a long pause after Alice's question.

"He proposed." Cora replied tersely. Alice could see Cora studying her with a furrowed brow through the mirror—she was trying to decide whether Alice was feigning ignorance or simply charmingly naïve. She probably assumed the latter, Alice thought ruefully.

"What did you say?" Alice asked dumbly after another uncomfortable pause.

"I said I'd consider it."

"I think you should marry him." Alice declared suddenly, a little too loudly, wanting to avoid another lull. Cora remained silent. "He's quite handsome. And brave. And smart!" Alice continued, "And he's not old and barmy like Margaret Chilton's new husband." A small smile formed on Cora's lips as she gently teased a snag out of Alice's hair.

"Well, I should have known. You certainly were…_animated _in your conversation with him this afternoon. I don't think I've ever seen you speak so much." Alice turned bright scarlet, and averted her eyes from her sister's gaze, instead focusing intently on the patterns in the wood of the vanity. Cora's playful countenance didn't last long, however, and she sighed heavily as she smoothed Alice's hair down lightly with her hands, the custom ending to their routine. "Duncan is a good man, and a dear friend. " Cora began as the two sisters left their places at the vanity and climbed into the double bed. "It's just…"

"What?" Alice rolled over to face Cora, propping her head up on her hand, genuinely curious. A cough suddenly wracked her body, and Cora put a maternal hand on Alice's forehead, a worried expression on her face.

"Hmm, no fever." Cora took a deep breath. "Oh, Alice, there's just so much you don't understand. Come now," she started again, all business, "We have a big day tomorrow, and you're not quite well. We must to bed. Good night, Alice, darling." Cora kissed her younger sister on the forehead and blew out the single candle they had been using for light.

Alice lay awake long after Cora's breathing had become slow and even, at first silently seething. But as the hours slipped by, righteous anger turned to restless frustration, and Alice tossed and turned, troubled by something large and pervasive that she couldn't quite identify.


	2. The Attack

**AN: **Thank you so much for all of the reviews! I'm so happy with the positive response to this fic. I hope I continue to please!

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Alice had started on her grand adventure in high spirits, considering it a good omen that previous day's pleasant weather had decided to remain; but as the regiment crossed the large clearing and entered the dimly lit forest, she became more contemplative, feeling her exuberance was out of place with such a change of scenery. As their horses clip-clopped over the uneven forest floor, Alice began to study her elder sister, who was seated regally on her handsome Narragansett a few feet in front of her. There was no denying Cora was beautiful—her dark hair, the color of mahogany, curled willingly under her cap without the coaxing that Alice's lank, pin-straight hair required. Though never as porcelain-skinned as London society would've liked, Cora had delicate features, affable dark eyes, and a musical laugh; a way of leaning in ever so slightly during conversation that made men feel like they were the only person in the room. Cora's light blue riding habit, edged in lace, showed the form of a woman, one that Alice had noticed caught the eye of many of the soldiers of the regiment as they lined up that morning at the encampment, whose stolen glances went unnoticed by the preoccupied Major.

Alice had considered herself in the mirror before they had departed the Rensslaerswyck Manor. Next to Cora, she looked like a child—she was a few inches shorter and had always been quite thin and pallid with small features, and her pale pink collared frock did her no favors in terms of looking her seventeen years of age. She had even applied some rouge in a vain attempt to look older, but Cora had chided her and told her to remove it, which she did obediently. Alice knew that her only beauty was her eyes—large and the color of the sea; her father had called them "Alice's mirrors" ever since she could remember. She smiled at the thought, excited to see her Papa again.

In much better spirits, Alice turned her attention back to the forest around her. She had never been this close to nature in its unadulterated state—with no coach walls to prevent her, she often reached her hand out to lightly touch the leaves on a protruding branch, or craned her head up to attempt to see the tops of the evergreen trees that shaded the rough pathway; her own horse amicably plodding along in spite of her inexperienced horsemanship. She even saw a full-grown buck leap through the underbrush and pause pensively before dashing off again. Alice felt as if she was in a sacred place—like the forest was an entity that lived and breathed and saw everything through the golden half-light. It made the 62nd Regiment seem woefully out of place, with its staccato drumbeats and garish red woolen uniforms in the summer heat. Cora and Duncan both looked decidedly ill at ease, their eyes shifting side to side warily. Alice was serene.

However, by midday, her sleepless night and hours of horseback riding had taken their toll—Alice's back and legs ached, and she was beginning to cough again.

"Alice?" Cora, who was now riding alongside her sister, looked at her worriedly. "Are you all right?"

"Can we rest?" Alice asked, her voice more petulant than she had intended.

"Absolutely," said Duncan, who had doubled back a few minutes ago on his handsome white gelding to check on the girls. Cora reached for Alice's hand, which she took, feeling guilty. She hadn't expected Duncan to respond so promptly to her request, and she didn't want to be seen as frail or a burden to anyone. Alice watched Duncan trot off to talk to Magua, their Native guide.

Magua had terrified Alice the first time she had seen him at the encampment early that morning. He was the first savage she had seen up close: bald except for a lock of black hair at the top of his head and clothed in nothing but a long yellow and black cloth over one shoulder and a pair of deerskin leggings, he had turned to look at Cora and Alice as they passed. Cora had been talking to Duncan, preoccupied, but Alice felt her heart leap into her throat when his cold eyes locked with hers. Alice knew whatever was once there—a soul, if they even believed in them—was long dead, replaced by something dark and ominous. Alice was quite relieved when they were positioned near the rear of the party, flanked by many soldiers and personally seen to by Duncan.

Alice narrowed her eyes as she saw Duncan and Magua part, with Duncan shooting an apologetic look to Cora as he trotted towards the head of the party to convene with Sergeant Ambrose. Alice knew Duncan thought she didn't notice, and would've been annoyed if there wasn't a more pressing matter at hand. So Magua hadn't allowed them to rest. Her hands instinctively tightening on her reins, Alice reminded herself that he knew the terrain better than anyone present, but was deeply disturbed by the subtle transfer of authority. Alice tried to swallow the fear that was slowly rising from deep within her chest into her throat, wishing she still had Cora's hand.

No amount of intuition, however, would've prepared her for what happened next.

Alice hadn't noticed Magua pass them as he made his way past Duncan and his superior Sergeant Major Ambrose toward the rear guard of soldiers, nor did she hear the sickening _thwap _of metal piercing flesh, but the deafening sound of thirteen muskets firing at once assaulted her consciousness, plunging her quite unprepared into the horror that was unfolding.

Alice reeled, her horse stumbling, whinnying frantically as the shots rang out. More gunfire came from behind the trees as Ambrose and Duncan struggled to maintain order and rally their men into firing position, but British soldiers fell left and right, their piercing screams of pain and fear and the officers' shouted orders melding into an unintelligible, cacophonous din. Cora was right in front of her, deftly managing her horse and attempting to take her sister's reins; Alice reached out for her frantically, clawing at the air.

Just then, Alice heard piercing cries—high, strong, and eerie, like nothing she had ever heard. Her head instinctively spun towards the sound. It was the most terrifying sight Alice had ever seen in her short life: what seemed like hundreds of red-painted Indians broke out of the tree line and rushed towards them like a tidal wave. Some had tomahawks raised, others held muskets, but all of their faces were alight with bloodlust, their features distorted.

A particularly loud gunshot was the last straw for Alice's terrified mount—he reared, unseating Alice in pure self-preservation. Alice screamed as she fell to the ground with a soft thud, her fall luckily cushioned by the soft forest floor. With the wind knocked out of her and immobilized by fear, Alice could do nothing but watch in open-mouthed horror as the savages quickly and deftly broke the soldiers' rigid formations.

And then Cora's body was over her; Alice felt her older sister's arms grasp her protectively, shielding her. Alice turned her head into Cora's chest, willing her or God or anyone to make it all stop. Cora gripped her tighter still, and Alice could feel her trembling. Out of the corner of her eye she could see flashes of white—the legs of Duncan's horse—pacing back and forth through her field of vision, and the abrupt ending of the footsteps running towards them after a deafening blow alerted Alice that Duncan was their last and only line of defense from certain death.

She felt Cora's body lurch involuntarily as she heard an unearthly scream and a heavy, sickening thud—Duncan's horse had been shot from under him. Alice didn't want to imagine the cause or the result of the rest of the sounds that she heard—the slicing of skin, bodies falling to the floor; the evil, shrill sound of the natives—but as she felt on her sister's frantic heartbeat against her cheek, Alice knew that in these moments, she and Cora were still alive; she held on to this simple fact as if she were drowning.

Alice kept her head tightly pressed against Cora's chest until she heard her sister's voice clearly ring out,

"No, Duncan!"

Alice whipped her head up, and was confronted with quite a different scene: the bloodied, mutilated bodies of soldiers and Indians littered the forest floor, blood pooling in its crevices. Both she and Cora were in a woeful state—both of them had lost their hats in the chaos, and their dresses were bloodstained, the skirts caked with mud. A wave of nausea coming over her, Alice quickly looked away, and saw a man she had never seen before grab the barrel of Duncan's musket and take it from him.

"In case your aim's any better'n your judgment." The man said derisively, throwing the musket aside.

Wondering what the man could possibly mean, Alice heard the whirring sound of a tomahawk thrown in the distance; she huddled close to her sister again. However, no more harm fell upon them, and after a few minutes, two more men appeared out of the underbrush. Following Cora's lead, Alice gingery raised herself to a standing position, taking her sister's arm. She hadn't hurt herself severely as far as she could tell: all of her limbs bent and supported her properly, with only a dull pain in her side. Confident in that respect, Alice's focus turned to the three men who had evidently just saved them.

The two men flanking the one who had grabbed Duncan's musket so nonchalantly were Indians, though they were different; more civilized, Alice thought. They were obviously father and son: the younger, though taller, had the same square jaw and almond-shaped eyes as the elder. To Alice's surprise, she realized that the man in the middle was actually white—though almost as tan as his counterparts and dressed similarly in a loose-fitting shirt, animal hide pants, and moccasins, his grey-green eyes revealed his decidedly non-Indian parentage. All three men had hair that went past their shoulders, the white man's only slightly lighter than the other two. The face-framing strands were tied behind their heads with colored thread, revealing the many earrings that jangled as they walked.

Alice had never seen such wild men. The white man said something that she didn't catch; she watched with vague repulsion as he and the older Indian picked the firearms off of the dead bodies. The younger Indian walked purposefully past Duncan towards the horses; he made a sharp "HA!" sound and slapped the frightened animals' hindquarters.

In that moment, it was as if every synapse in Alice's brain fired at once. The horses were the only things left. Desperation and rage suddenly filled her, and she found herself barreling toward the young Indian at full speed, hysterical.

"Stop it!" It was as if someone or something else had momentarily possessed her. "We need them to get out of here!"

It was then that Uncas son of Chingachgook put his two hands on Alice's shoulders and looked straight into Alice's dirty, tear-strained face. The first thing Alice perceived was heat.

Warmth radiated from the younger native's hands throughout her entire body; illogically, it made her shiver. His grip was firm, but not rough—Alice could feel his large, strong hands on her shoulders through the thin fabric of her waistcoat, and strangely, a calm washed over her. Those hands were holding her upright as her world was tumbling at her feet.

Without thinking, Alice looked up and locked eyes with the first man who had ever touched her. His features were striking: he had skin the color of a copper penny, with high cheekbones and a strong, resolute jaw. His eyes were a deep, fathomless black, darker than Cora's, but they lacked the murderous glint that she had seen reflected in the eyes of their attackers. Instead, there was a dizzying intensity that Alice couldn't place; it made her pliable. All she knew is that she didn't want to look away.

"Why's he loosing the horses?" Duncan demanded angrily.

It couldn't have been more than a second; Alice felt as if she was breaking the surface after being under water as she felt Cora's hand on her back, pulling her away from the strange red man and gathering her in her arms. Alice realized that everyone was staring at her: Cora and Duncan looked alarmed, and even the two other men looked at her quizzically, as if they knew that her outburst was quite out of character. At almost the same time, the young Indian gently let go of Alice's shoulders and ambled back towards the men.

"Why don't you ask him?" The white man retorted, looking up at Duncan

"Too easy to track." The younger Indian spoke clearly, his voice deep and even. "Can be heard for miles. Find yourself a musket."

Alice gaped, her embarrassment gone, astonished at his easy English.

"We were headed to Fort William Henry." Duncan continued, flustered, though Alice couldn't figure out why he thought it prudent to state this. Duncan didn't seem to know why either.

The elder Indian addressed his two younger companions in what Alice assumed to be his native language, and she was shocked once again to hear the white man answer him as easily as the other had in English. Alice wondered if he had voluntarily deserted civilized life to live among the red men in the wilderness.

By the way the three men were scrutinizing her, Cora, and Duncan, Alice knew that they were deciding their fate. Fear rose in her throat again, gnawing in her chest—surely they wouldn't leave them there in the middle of the forest, without food or water or possessions? Alice's eyes were fixed on the younger Indian—he was silent, but he watched his father and the white man talk intently. His expression had changed: the searching gaze that had hypnotized Alice was still there, but his brow was furrowed in an expression of pensive concern.

After a minute or so of deliberation, the white man turned to look at the three of them, and his lips curled into an odd ghost of a smile.

"We'll take you as far as the fort." He turned and began to walk down the path, stepping over the dead soldiers as if he were stepping over stones in a shallow lake. He and the two other men occasionally stooped down to pick up the pouches of bullets that the redcoats kept in their satchels. "We need to move fast, and the fort is well off our course." He looked up at Duncan and smirked, obviously enjoying the response he was eliciting. "Unless you want to wait for the next Huron war party to come by."

He threw a musket to Duncan, who caught it, fumbling. Duncan turned to look at the two girls, an odd mix of repulsion, bewilderment, and resignation in his normally imperious face. Without a word, Duncan turned on his heel and began to follow their rescuers. Alice took a shaky step and then another; she felt Cora's arms unconsciously tighten around her, but they soon relaxed and Cora matched Alice's awkward gait, her grip unwavering.

Alice was too busy staring ahead to notice her sister bend down over a dead redcoat, slipping a short-barreled blunderbuss into the pockets of her petticoats. The younger sister had her eyes fixed on the retreating figure of the young Indian, unable to look away. Alice didn't know how, but something deep and instinctual told her that wherever the man with the long black hair and the strong hands was—the one whose eyes that had held hers so boldly—they would be safe.

And so the six of them walked under the canopy of leaves, traversing the river of fallen soldiers before continuing on into the forest that Alice had once described as all-knowing.

* * *

_The first thought is fear, and brother, it emits a crippling bend.  
A shame you can't know that you carry until you've seen it offered down.  
Watching shielded in the silence, shielded in the knowledge that has no use for language…_


	3. The Walking

**A/N: **I will probably be updating less frequently, unfortunately: the semester is coming to an end, and I'm swamped with work! However, I'm working steadily on this, so I would say expect an update every 2-3 weeks. As always, I'm eternally grateful for all of the wonderful reviews! Enjoy!

* * *

Never had she thought there could be so much _walking_.

Whether it was from shock or exhaustion, Alice didn't know, but her limbs seemed not to work correctly—even when Cora had relaxed her vice-like grip around her shoulders, Alice lagged behind, her legs numb, her knees unwilling to bend. Her brand-new riding boots—purchased for the happy occasion of her first trip into the untamed wilderness—were not yet broken in, and the unyielding leather digging through her silk stockings into her heels was a constant reminder of each arduous step. Her whalebone stays squeezed her ribcage, making her breathing heavy and shallow.

She still couldn't quite believe the situation she was in—that the three wild men, the tomahawks and the gunshots, the hours of one foot in front of the other in front of the other could be _real_; but with each glance down at her filthy dress and ahead at Duncan's surefooted, distinctly military stride and Cora's hurried gait, which were in such contrast with their guides' easy amble, Alice was reminded of their sorry state. She found herself thinking wistfully of the trunks full of dresses and handkerchiefs and books that had been lost in the fray. At this point, she would have carried hers herself.

Tears pricked at Alice's eyes and threatened to escape; she sniffed defiantly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand before setting her gaze resolutely forward. Surely her father had suffered much worse in his days as a lieutenant, marched many more miles living only on bread and ghastly dried meat through all sorts of terrible conditions. She would be strong. She would not sit down on the dusty earth and collapse into tears like she wanted to, curling herself up into a ball like she did as a small, often sick child when she didn't want to feel Cora's smothering embrace, when she wanted to disappear. She wouldn't be fragile.

_She would be brave._

"What is your name?"

Alice turned, startled. The young Indian was right behind her, looking at her levelly. The six of them had fallen into a sort of formation after the first half hour or so of walking—the elder red man took the lead, while the white man walked about ten paces behind. Duncan and Cora kept close behind him, while the young Indian brought up the rear. Alice glanced from him to the four figures that now seemed much further ahead and back to him again. She hadn't realized how far behind she had gotten. Alice averted her gaze, self-conscious without quite knowing why. Did he feel sorry for her?

"A-Alice." She smoothed down her skirts, attempting to walk faster. "Alice Munro."

There was a pause. The younger Indian matched her pace, his strides long and even, equal to about three of Alice's.

"Uncas." He said. "That is Chingachgook, my father," he pointed towards the elder Indian, "and that is Nathaniel, my brother." He moved his finger towards the white man.

"Your brother?" Alice asked before she could stop herself, looking up at Uncas again. Surely he meant in a metaphorical sense.

"Yes." Uncas said simply, offering no further elaboration. A silence fell between Alice and Uncas, and she wondered if she had angered him in some way. She brought a hand to her exposed hair nervously before extending her own arm.

"That's Cora, my sister, and that is….erm….Major Duncan Heyward, our..." She paused uncomfortably, searching for the right word. "…friend."

Uncas nodded politely. The look calm attentiveness was constant: he reminded Alice of a retriever, one ear always pricked, attuned to his surroundings, always thinking. This comforted Alice, and they walked side by side for some time. When Uncas' attention was driven elsewhere, to cover a track or to turn his head toward an unfamiliar sound, Alice studied him, focusing on the minute details—the rich indigo color of his loose-fitting shirt, the teardrop shape of the earring in his left ear, the contrast of the red feather with the blue stitching on the satchel that hung from his belt, the way he held his musket down in front of him with two hands instead of slung along his back like his father and Nathaniel. It was a welcome respite from the gnawing pain of her blistered heels and constricted chest.

It was then that they entered a clearing on a large rock formation, a climbing waterfall spilling down and around the jutting shale, landing by their feet on one side. Alice gasped softly in awe as the wind blew through her hair, making the pink ribbon that Cora had tied so meticulously that morning, in a different time, dance in her peripheral vision. She drew the crisp breeze into her lungs, closing her eyes momentarily—there was nothing like this in England.

At least if she had to walk, she did so in this beautiful land, lulled by the sound of rushing water.

_Uncas_. Alice mouthed the name to herself once she had noticed Uncas slow his pace to again be at the rear of the group- it passed through her teeth and lips easily, the masculine, percussive first syllable leading into the breathy, almost whispered second. A small smile formed on Alice's lips, and she attempted Chingachgook, amused and intrigued, but its heaviness made her jaw feel jumbled. Words had never challenged her so much.

Lost in thought, Alice was caught off guard when she was confronted with the sharp incline of the rocks, forming a small cliff. Nathaniel and Chingachgook bounded up with ease, expertly gripping the jutted-out pieces of rock and pushing off of their moccasin-clad feet, followed by Duncan, who heaved himself up and over somewhat awkwardly. Once situated, he gallantly offered a hand to Cora, who flattened herself against the rocks, gripping tightly with white-knuckled fingers, only accepting Duncan's hand to avoid losing her footing among so many petticoats.

Alice paused, examining the incline dubiously. She slowly turned her head to look behind her, half-expecting something different, but there he was. Uncas looked at her just as unabashedly as he had done when they had first encountered each other, the same intent gaze with the slightly furrowed brow. However, his deep, dark eyes had a certain warmth, and Alice was struck by how handsome his face was, shaped in such an intricate expression. She suddenly wished she knew what he was thinking.

Emboldened, Alice turned to face the rocks again, and with one last look up, climbed without taking anyone's hand.

* * *

_We came around again  
to knowing nothing.  
We came around without even our names._

_We came around again,  
our tongues scattered and confused in that way._

_

* * *

_

When they had again reached level ground, Alice was uneasy. She distanced herself from Uncas, rationalizing that her sister would worry at her lagging so far behind. She quickened her steps to catch up with Cora and a very pompous-looking Duncan, who had just begun a conversation with Nathaniel.

"Scout, I'd like to thank you for your help. How much further is it?"

By the way Nathaniel stiffened at the word "scout," Alice knew that this conversation would not be an amicable one. She cast her eyes down and slightly to the left: it was a pose she had perfected during long hours in London drawing rooms, a distant look while situated in an ideal position to listen.

"A night and a bit." Nathaniel answered shortly.

"It appears we've run away from them." Alice had never noticed Duncan's penchant for stating the obvious until she saw how viscerally Nathaniel reacted to it. She wondered vaguely if it also irritated Cora.

"Maybe. Maybe they ain't alone. That Huron captain back there—"

"The guide? He's a Mohawk." Duncan interrupted.

"No Mohawk, he's Huron." Nathaniel repeated impatiently. "What reason did he have to murder the girl?"

Alice almost choked. Her eyes as wide as saucers, she turned to look at her sister, who made no attempt to hide her attention to the conversation. She focused intently on the two men, and Alice could not tell whether she was deliberately ignoring her gaze or not.

"What?" Duncan was incredulous. Nathaniel turned to look at the two girls, and indicated his head towards Cora.

"The dark-haired one. "

"Miss Cora Munro? Murder her? He never set eyes on her before today! She's only been here a week." Duncan sputtered, attempting to maintain his authoritative tone, but there was a note of fear in his voice. Alice could only gape, her thoughts racing. How could a savage they had never met want to murder her sister?

"No blood vengeance? No reproach or insult?" Alice marveled at how Nathaniel could speak of such things so casually, as if he were making light conversation about the weather.

"Of course not." Duncan paused, and Alice wondered if he was building up his nerve. "And how is it _you_ were so nearby?"

"Came across the war party, tracked 'em." Nathaniel replied simply. Alice registered the disdain in Duncan's last question and was flummoxed at the amusement in Nathaniel's reply.

"Then you're assigned to Fort William Henry?"

"Nope."

"Ford Edward, then?" Duncan was genuinely confused.

"No. Headin' west, to Can-tuck-ee."

"There is a war! How is it you are headed west?" Alice was taken aback at Duncan's outspoken indignance. This was not the formal, unfailingly polite soldier that she had always known—and besides, what business was it of theirs what the three men were doing in the forest? She, Cora, and Duncan were quite indebted to them. Nathaniel stopped abruptly and turned to face Duncan, and Alice wondered in horror if he would strike him. Instead, he looked Duncan straight in the eye and said,

"Well, we kinda face to the north, and real sudden-like, turn left."

Alice would've laughed if she weren't so intimidated. She was sure that nobody had ever spoken to Duncan in such a way before, and the incensed look on Duncan's face confirmed it. Alice watched her sister take a step towards Duncan, scowling.

"I thought all of our colonial scouts were in the militia." Duncan enunciated each word, obviously attempting to contain his fury. "The militia is fighting the French in the North."

"I ain't your scout," Nathaniel's voice was low and serious, all undertones of amusement gone. "And I sure ain't in no damn militia. Clear it up any?"

Before Duncan could respond, Nathaniel turned and continued on, his characteristic easy lope unchanged. Duncan, fuming, had no choice but to follow him. Alice followed her sister in turn, who walked more slowly than usual, deep in thought. Alice made sure to leave a wide berth between her and Nathaniel—she was now well aware that he was not one to be trifled with.

Not that Alice had ever trifled with anyone, ever.

As they continued on, however, Alice could've sworn she heard muffled snickering behind her, and she allowed herself a tiny smile.

* * *

The climbing rock formation led into a particularly thick part of the underbrush; Alice's field of vision was entirely shrouded in green. The precarious criss-crossing branches hampered even the light, swift movements of Chingachgook and Nathaniel; they crouched low to the forest floor and courteously held back the particularly thick boughs for the two women to pass through.

Alice felt betrayed by the forest. Winding tree roots snaked in front of her feet and made her stumble; sharp twigs with thorns snagged on the sleeves of her dress. Twice she had lost her footing in earnest and would've fell flat on her face if not for her sister's quick grip on her elbow. She was sweaty and dirty and hungry and so, so tired.

Suddenly, she heard a rustling above her. Alice instinctively whipped her heard up towards the sound, and saw a small wren land lightly on a branch. Light spilled brilliantly from above, filtered by the covering of leaves into small luminous halos. Alice watched, mesmerized, as the bird preened itself; its tiny, alert eyes like glass beads. She wondered if she would grow accustomed to the unexpected beauty of this mysterious and dangerous place.

Alice didn't know when he had stopped beside her, but he was there, as silent and steady as one of the forest oaks.

"Tschèchtschis." Uncas said softly.

"I'm sorry?" Alice asked too loudly, not sure whether he was speaking to her. The bird flew away, startled by the unexpected noise, but Uncas didn't seem perturbed.

"Bird." He replied, his gaze suddenly distant. Alice turned to look at him, and was struck by how he suddenly looked sheepish.

"Check….checkchiss." Alice offered timidly, and Uncas again met her gaze, surprised, but without warning, a sharp sound interrupted them.

It seemed that the section of dense underbrush had ended—Nathaniel was crouched low, peering through the leaves into what seemed like a large clearing. Chingachgook had loudly said something in his native language that Alice assumed was intended for Uncas; his eyes went from hers to over her head, and she wheeled around to see what had captured his attention. Even from relatively far away, she saw the look on Nathaniel and Chingachgook's faces, how quickly Uncas ran towards the head of the party, his feet barely touching the forest floor. Alice knew something was terribly wrong.

At first it seemed an idyllic, pastoral scene, a well-deserved respite from the obtrusive thicket: the clearing was on a small hill, and at first, all Alice could see was a crudely designed wooden fence enclosing tall corn stalks that swayed gently in the breeze. However, the acrid smell of smoke filled her lungs before she had even gotten herself free from the tangled branches. Alice stepped into the open field of grass behind Cora and Duncan, the familiar sense of foreboding rising in her throat. It was only when the caved-in roof of the house came into sight as they trudged up the incline that she understood.

_Somebody had lived here._

Alice could only stare in open-mouthed horror as the gruesome scene slowly unfolded. The small log cabin was completely decimated—the roof and walls were almost entirely caved in, with splintered pieces of wood littered haphazardly around. Smoke billowed ominously from the center of the wreckage; the smell of burning was too caustic to be just wood; it made Alice cough, her eyes tearing. Alice reached for her sister's hand and clutched it; Cora responded with a squeeze, her gaze set resolutely forward.

"What has happened?" Alice whispered urgently to Cora. "Who would do such a—"

"Hush, Alice!" Cora cut her off in a harsh whisper.

Alice's eyes searched instinctively for Uncas, and he saw him off to the side, crouched down on the ground, inspecting something. As he walked away and into what remained of the demolished cabin, Alice clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream—laying face down on the grass was an unmistakably dead woman, her grey dress stained with blood from a large, deep gash in her back. Alice felt faint; she squeezed her eyes shut and allowed Cora to lead her, not knowing where she was walking until she opened her eyes a few minutes later. Cora and Duncan had settled a hundred feet or so away from the rubble near what remained of the front door. Just then, Alice saw Uncas emerge from the gaping hole in what was once the side wall.

He was stoic, his gait surefooted and direct as he made his way towards where Nathaniel and Chingachgook had gathered a few feet away from him, but his expression was heavy and pained. He exuded such grave, dignified sadness that it made Alice's heart ache; she was suddenly seized with an urge to reach out to him, to attempt to offer whatever sort of comfort she could with such limited understanding of this world that she had only just entered. It was then that she realized that whoever these people had been, all three men had cared very much for them.

Alice had never experienced loss—her mother had died giving birth to her far before she could remember, and the few family members that had passed away in her lifetime were distant relatives that Alice had never met more than once or twice. As she watched the three men crouch in the dirt, Chingachgook's aged finger tracing something in the dirt that she couldn't see, Alice couldn't help but wonder about the family that had lived and died in the burnt cabin. Had they woke up in the morning and went about their day just like any other, only to be mercilessly slaughtered and their home destroyed? The woman must've had a husband that she loved, children she kissed at night before they went to sleep. Alice wondered if her husband had fought to defend his family, if she had to watch her children die.

And then she thought how easily it could've been her—how it could've been _her_ lifeless body they found strewn on the ground, or Cora's, or Duncan's. Alice imagined herself with a tomahawk sticking out of her back, eyes glassy, frozen in a perpetual look of surprise. Would Uncas have knelt so tenderly over her lifeless form? Would he have wondered the same things she was wondering, speculated about a life abruptly ended that was so very different from his own?

Alice shivered—she had never entertained such morbid thoughts before.

"Let us look after them." Duncan's voice brought Alice back to the present. She watched as Chingachgook, Nathaniel, and finally Uncas stood up, Nathaniel putting a brotherly hand on Uncas' shoulder. Alice suddenly realized that they intended to leave without giving these people a proper burial, and the thought unsettled her—surely they didn't want to leave the bodies exposed?

The thought of bodies made Alice shudder again.

"Whoever they are, though they're strangers, they are at least entitled to a Christian burial!"

Cora's outburst shocked Alice. Of course they weren't strangers—at least, not to the three men. Didn't Cora see the looks of pain in the men's faces, the weighted, somber way they had come together, undoubtedly speaking of who could have committed such a terrible atrocity?

Chingachgook and Uncas passed Cora on each side without a word; Alice saw the hard look on Uncas' face, his eyes flashing and jaw clenched. Coupled with Chingachgook's similar mien, she knew that both were angry at Cora's words, and she could hardly blame them. Only Nathaniel acknowledged Cora as he walked by.

"Let us go, miss."

Alice was taken aback by how weary Nathaniel sounded; there was almost a tenderness in how he looked at her sister. Cora didn't see it.

"I will not! I have seen the face of war before, Mr. Poe, but never war made on women and children, and it is almost as cruel as your indifference!"

_Now_ Cora knew she had gone too far. Nathaniel wheeled around to face Cora, who took a step back, startled. Alice couldn't help but cringe—both at the inevitable confrontation and her sister's blatant exaggeration.

"Miss Munro." Nathaniel's voice was even, contained, his anger tempered through his lowered eyes. "They are not strangers, and they stay as they lay."

Nathaniel turned to follow his father and brother, who were already halfway across the clearing. Cora was rooted to the spot; her face was contorted in an odd mix of indignation and embarrassment. Alice knew that her sister had just realized what she had come to know as she watched the men pick through the rubble of the demolished cabin—that these men, no matter how wild or lawless, loved and lost just as they did.

In an odd reversal of roles, Alice put a comforting arm around her sister's waist. Cora looked at her, confused, but soon her expression softened and she took Alice's hand. With Duncan beside them, they followed the mournful march of the three men beyond the smoking ruins; tacitly deciding it would be best to keep their distance.

Alice looked over her shoulder one last time and marveled how blithely the corn stalks danced in the small gusts of wind, unchanged even through the dark veil of smoke.


End file.
